Tip Lewis and His Lamp Part 27

"Poh!" said Edward; "what nonsense that is! I'd look well being ashamed of any one that Minturn talked with. But, Bob, I can't go to-night, nor any other night just about this time; because I made a promise that I'd do something else, at exactly half-past eight, and that nothing in the world should hinder me if I could help it; and it can't be far from half-past eight now."

Bob eyed him curiously. "Tip, you're the oddest fellow born, I do believe," he said at last "Is it lessons?"

"No, it's nothing about lessons."

"Couldn't I _help_ you to do it?"

"Yes," said Edward, after a thoughtful silence; "you _could_ help me better than any one else, only you won't."

"Well, now," Bob answered earnestly, "as sure as I'm alive, I will, if you'll tell me what it is; I'll help you this very night."

"Do you promise?" asked Edward.

"Yes, I do, out and out; and when I promise a thing through and through, why, _you_ know, Tip Lewis, that I do it."

"Well," said Edward, as he tried the door to see that all was safe before leaving, "then I'll tell you. Every night, at exactly half-past eight, I go to my room and ask G.o.d over and over again to make you want to be a Christian."

Not a single word did Bob answer to this; he took long strides up the street by the side of Edward in the direction of Mr. Mintern's, never once speaking until they had reached the door, and stood waiting to be let in; then he said, "Tip, that's mean."

"What is?"

"To get a fellow to promise what he can't do."

"I have not. Don't you want to be a Christian?"

"No; I can't say that I'm particular about it."

"But that's too silly to believe. You need a friend to help you about as badly as any one I know of, and when you can have one for the asking, why shouldn't you want Him? Besides, I didn't say _make_ you a Christian, anyhow; I said make you _want_ to be one. You can pray, that _I'm_ sure; any way, you promised, and I trusted you."

Bob followed him through the hall, up the stairs, to his neat little room, and whistled "Hail, Columbia," while he lighted a match and turned on the gas.

"My! you have things in style here, don't you?" he said, looking around, while the bright light gleamed over the pretty carpet and s.h.i.+ning furniture.

"Yes," said Edward; "everything in this house is in style. Bob, it's half-past eight."

"Well," Bob said good-naturedly, "I'd like to know what I'm to do; this is new business to me, you see."

"I'm going to kneel down here and pray for you, and you promised to do the same."

Edward knelt at his bedside, and Bob, half laughing, followed his example. But Christ must have been praying too, and putting words into Edward's heart to say. By and by, in spite of himself, Bob had to put up his hand and dash away a tear or two. He had never heard himself prayed for before.

That evening was one to be remembered by Bob Turner, for more than one reason. Bay sent for both of the boys to come to his room; he was sick, but not too sick to see and talk with Bob whenever he could get a chance.

He made the half-hour spent with him so pleasant, that Bob gave an eager a.s.sent to the request that he would come often. More than that, he kept his word; and as often as he pa.s.sed Edward's door, towards nine o'clock, he stepped lightly, for he knew that he was being prayed for, and there began to come into his heart a strange longing to pray for himself. One evening he discovered that Ray, too, prayed every night for him, and the vague notion grew into a certainty, that what they two were so anxious about for him, he ought to desire for himself.

"Ye shall ask what ye will, and it shall be done unto you."

Edward had taken this promise into his heart; he was trying to live up to the condition to abide in Christ, and in due season G.o.d made His promise sure.

"I wish," Bob said to Ray one evening when the weary head was full of pain,--"I _do_ wish I could do something for you."

"You can," Ray answered quickly,--"something that I would like better than almost anything else in the world."

"What is it?" Bob's question was sincere and eager.

"Give yourself to Christ."

Bob heard this in grave, earnest silence.

"I would," he said after a minute, "if I knew how."

"Do you mean that?"

"Yes, I do; I'm sick of waiting, and I'm sick of myself."

"If I should tell you how, would you do it?"

"Yes, I would," spoken evidently with honest meaning.

"Kneel down, then, here beside me, and say to G.o.d that you want to be a Christian; that you are willing to give yourself up to Him now and for ever, to do just as He tells you."

Bob hesitated, struggling a little, and at last knelt down. There was silence in the room, while three sincere hearts were lifted up in prayer; and surely Christ bent low to listen. When Bob would have risen, Bay laid one hand on his arm, and, steadying his throbbing head with the other, said solemnly,--

"Blessed Redeemer, here is a soul given up to Thee. Do Thou take it, and wash it in Thy precious blood, and make it fit for heaven. We ask boldly, because Thou hast promised, and we know that Thy promises are sure."

"Edward," Ray said the next evening, as they sat alone, and were silent for a little, after Bob had left them, and gone home rejoicing in the hope of sins washed away, "what was that verse that your minister at home quoted for you in his letter?"

"I love the Lord, because He has heard my voice and my supplication,"

Edward repeated it with brightening eyes.

CHAPTER XXVI.

"And when they looked, they saw that the stone was rolled away."

Onward sped the busy days, until at last there came an evening which made it exactly three years since Edward had first set foot in Albany. They had been years of wonderful progress to him. He had gone on steadily with his evening studies; he had been an eager pupil, and Ray had been a faithful teacher. This evening he sat in the library waiting for Ray, but he had a very troubled face. Once more he took Kitty's long letter out of his pocket. Kitty wrote long letters once in two weeks, but it was a rare thing to have a postscript added by his mother. He turned to this and read it again; it was a very kind one. They were doing well now, so she wrote. Her health was very good, now that she slept quietly at night; and just here Edward knew there had come in a heavy sigh, because there was no constant coughing to disturb her rest. She had steady work, and could support Kitty and herself nicely without his help; he must keep what he earned for himself after this. "Kitty says you want to go to school," so the letter ran; "if you do, save up your money for that. Your poor father had a notion that you would make a scholar; I think it would please him if you did."

Surely he could not wish for a kinder, more thoughtful letter than this; coming from his _mother_, too! she must have changed much, as well as himself. But this very letter had greatly unsettled his quiet life; the old longing to give himself up to study, to prepare for the ministry, had broken loose, and well-nigh overwhelmed him with its power. He wanted it, oh, so much! it had grown strong, instead of weak, during these three years. But what to do, and how to do it? That was the question. Certainly he was not prepared to answer it. If he stayed where he was, led his busy life all day in the store, how was he ever to go through with the necessary course of study, which it was high time he commenced in earnest? If he left them, these dear friends, who had taken him into their home and hearts, and made him feel like one of thorn, how was he to live while he studied? How, indeed, could he study at all? The truth was, Edward, calling to mind Mr. Holbrook's lecture that last evening in the home prayer-meeting, and his resolution taken then, thought that the stone was ahead of him no longer, but that he had walked _close_ up to it, and could not take another step because of it, and very large and impossible to move did it look to his shortsighted eyes.

Just as he was growing hopelessly moody, Lay came in, and settled himself among the cus.h.i.+ons, rather wearily.

"Ray," said Edward anxiously, "you are not well enough for lessons to-night."

"No," answered Ray, smiling, however, as he spoke; "I think I am not, because I want to talk instead. I am full of a scheme which needs your help; for once we'll let the lessons go. It is an age since I have heard anything concerning your plans; you have not given up your desire for the ministry, I hope?"

"No, Ray; I shall never give that up."